


Youngblood

by mwinterknights12



Series: 'Stormborn' series [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:23:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwinterknights12/pseuds/mwinterknights12
Summary: Anunaya Youngblood has never belonged anywhere. Her powers too weak for the magical community, her race too unknown for the Nords; Anunaya finds herself seeking belonging in the College of Winterhold, the very threats defining her lurking in the shadows of the great corridors. Anunaya must learn her hardest lesson; find a place where you belong or carve one for yourself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello guys, so we have the third book within the Stormborn universe. This one is very magic based. It was pointed out to me that I haven't included a lot of magic within Stormborn, and I completely agree. This story has been in the works for a while as I've tried to shape more of the Skyrim universe to make it more realistic. Like Lightwood, this story is definitely going to bridge with the events that are taking place in Skyrim during Stormborn. However, the three will eventually combine. The first few chapters will be short as character development begins but will extend as I get a flow for it. Thanks!! And hope you enjoy!!! :)

            Gold…light flickered over Anunaya’s closed lids, the interruption awaking her from a deep sleep. She sat up in the warmth of her beds only to hear the familiar sound of thorax bugs and crickets chirping amongst the twilight. Another sound…footsteps scuffling around her cabin. She stood quickly, grasping her staff, her fingers white as she tightly grasped the smooth elder wood. She could feel her magic pulsing through it like a heartbeat.

            _Thump…_ another pair of footsteps came towards her cabin.

                        _Thump…_ liquid sloshed and spilled as it was splashed across the wooden walls.

                                    _Thump…_ the air rushed as another torch was lit.

 

_Get out…. get out…. get out_ …Anunaya could hear her spirit companions pleading with her to flee, begging her to leave the familiarity of her home. Instead, she grasped her cloak and tied the navy-blue strings around her throat and slipped on a pair of her mud-crusted boots. Her red locks were already beginning to spring from the outside humidity of Morthal. The smell of the swampy bog filled her nostrils, but not so much as the smell of torches.

            Stepping out onto the creaking boards of her porch, she came eye to eye with six men, all of them Nords with long beards and unkept hair. She recognized them as men from her village, many of them she had treated before. Uldred Haverford had needed wheat and blisterwort when he unintentionally stuck a knife through his hand. Ragnor Stonepalm had needed a small concoction of honey, blue mountain flower, and lavender for a sweet smelling, fertility charm so his cattle could finally produce a calf. And finally, Uther Hollowood…she had been unable to give him what he sought after.

            She had tried, over and over, attempting to return the beating of the young girl’s heart. The babe had barely been nine years old; she had fallen into the foliage only to meet the sting of Deathbell and Nightshade thorns. By the time she had been brought to the village healer, Anunaya could do nothing for her. The poison had already run its course.

            “Witch…” The word fell from his lips like the deepest of insults. She should have known better than to stay in the village, but feared that leaving her home would plant further seeds of mistrust among the Nords. She was already a Bosmer, already mistrusted because of her magic. But when she had offered her healing services, her strongest form of magic, she had hoped to win the Nords over. And she had, at least until Willow Hollowood had passed.

 

            _Run… Run… Run…_ the spirits continued to urge her to flee, knowing what fate awaited her at the hands of the Nords. But Anunaya couldn’t. Uther was a broken man, mourning over the loss of his daughter. His actions were not those of an evil sinister sort; they were vengeful and filled with regret. Because of this, the young Wood elf set her Staff of Fireball aside and walked towards them.

“Stay back, witch!” said Hollowood, “I know your magic doesn’t require a staff. We should have known better than to trust an elf!” He spat at her, the disgusting liquid landing on her white nightgown. Still, she ignored her no matter how her heart ached at the insults.

“Why do you come here?” she asked, trying to remove the shakiness from her voice. It didn’t work.

“You…you killed my daughter! You allowed her to die!” said Hollowood, his cheeks red with fury and sorrow. “We knew better than to let your kind into our midst. Elves are nothing but bloody skeevers and thieves. We will cast you out!”

 

            Men seized her arms and legs, dragging her away from her porch although she tried to fight. Forcing her onto her belly, she watched in horror as they began to slosh more and more oils onto the wooden walls and floors. Inside they went as they continued to steal and destroy from her shelves. Her books…all of her books would be burned. All the years of work she had put into her alchemy and restoration magic would be gone. She was glad they feared her though. She may have been able to cast lesser wards and healing magics, but a single destruction spell had never passed from her fingertips. If they had known this, they would have destroyed her staff.

“It’s not my fault!” Anunaya tried to fight back the tears, but she couldn’t. She had never been good at hiding how she felt. It was why her mother had always swatted her, knowing that her child was too filled with water. “Willow was too far gone!”

            A sharp pain hit her ribs as Hollowood’s boot collided with her side in a swift kick. “You are not fit to speak her name!” Another kick.  Anunaya gasped for air, sucking it in desperately for a breath but the man continued to beat her. She tried to focus, tried to ignore the throbbing pain, so her amber eyes turned back towards her cabin. The Nords were running from it now as the flames began to spread over home, engulfing every oil-drenched board.

            Hollowood kicked her once more, this time rolling her onto her back as he began his work on her face. Anunaya screamed for help, but she knew no one would come. The Nords knew better than to challenge their own. She would only have to hope that Hollowood wouldn’t kill her.

“Do you know what?” His voice was laced with loathing and venom, as if he could spit acid onto her bloodied face. “I want everyone to know what you are and what you’ve done. You’re a monster with a pretty face! Let’s change that!”

            He pulled a small knife from his boot, no bigger than Anunaya’s pinky finger. Spitting blood at his eyes, Anunaya had tried to fight him away, her nails digging into the soft flesh of his arms, but he could not be stopped. Although his men looked scared, as if this hadn’t been part of the plan, they did nothing to stop him.

            The young elf screamed in agony as she felt the dull blade tear through the flesh of her cheek, from the corner of her mouth to the base of her temple. Blood flooded her mouth as the metal not only ripped through the flesh, but cut at her tongue. She continued to scream, making the process worse as the movements became more jagged and unprofessional. Satisfied with his bloody work, he through the girl to the ground in a bloody pool of her blood. Before kicking her once more in the stomach and back. This time the men joined in, causing more fiery stings to bruise her honey, mocha skin.

            It was all too much for the young girl; the scent of the ash, the taste of the blood, the feeling of the bruises. Darkness washed over her as she wept, allowing her to finally rest in the steady embrace of unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, I'm currently in the middle of having what I like to call "Writer's brain". Literally, all I can think about is my various stories, many of which are happening all at the same time. I may have taken on too much at once, but when has that been any different than normal. Frankly, I've very excited. I'm just glad to have winter break to spend time relaxing and letting myself have fun with my writing.  
>  This semester was a very difficult one and it was very hard to be inspired (its amazing a what a decent night's sleep will do). I can't promise anything major simply because the holidays are this weekend but as a belated Christmas present, I will not have 1, but 4 chapters published this week. 2 in Stormborn, 1 in Youngblood, and 1 in Lightwood. So stay tuned because I'm giving myself a deadline of Sunday night at 12am. Have a good Christmas guys :)

She was touching it…again. Her thin, nimble fingers traced over the bumps and divots as if her face had become a new mountain canyon, carved out by the great rivers that lined Skyrim’s landscape. Anunaya could hardly recognize herself as she stared into her reflection, the water rippling and changing; she had hoped that maybe it was the gentle waves and tides in the water that caused the mark to form. Yet, when she lifted her hand to her cheek, the wretched scar was still there. It had extended from the corner of her mouth to her temple, narrowly missing her eye. The priestess at the temple said that she should have counted herself lucky that the infection had not killed her.

            A week had passed since the village men had burned down her home and left her bleeding in the elements. When she had awoken, somehow, she had been thrown into a barn. It was there that the wound had been exposed to feces and urine along with a long list of other dirty things that left part of her skin green within hours. Weak and feverish, Anunaya had managed to sneak onto a carriage towards Whiterun, far away from the region that had left her branded and diseased.

            The priestess at the Tempe of Kynareth had been kind, cleaning and treating her wounds. The elf had suffered not just from the cut, but also several broken ribs. She was convinced that unless she had made it to Whiterun, she would have died.

 

            She was a beggar now, penniless and ruined. Any hopes that she had for an eventual marriage and family had been cut away by Hollowind’s knife. It was even more unlikely now that she would be able to find work as a healer. It was one thing to be an elf and a mage, but being maimed had taken all of her chances. Her only hope now would be to travel to Valenwood, where she would likely be made a spinster, but a taken care of spinster. Her people always needed good healers.

            Yet, something was calling for her to stay in Skyrim. She could have easily excused it by how dangerous it was to travel the roads. One never knew if they were going to enter into a skirmish between the Stormcloaks and the Imperials, and now that threat had escalated more with the threat of the dragons.

            She had heard a great many rumors about the Dragonborn in Whiterun. Several months previously, it had been said that he was working alongside the Companions, aiding the old Harbinger before his passing. To hear it from the people, he was the new Harbinger of the Companions and hero of Tamriel; a true son to Skyrim. When she had asked the priestess about the subject, she had told a slightly different tale.

“I’ve met the Dragonborn.” She spoke, her hazel eyes filled with bright light and wonder. “Only in passing though. Joriell, I believe his name was. He is a good man and cares for the people within the city. But he was not the salvation for the Companions, at least not solely.”

“What do you mean?”

“A woman is now the Harbinger of the Companions now, although Vilkas leads in her stead.” The woman continued “You may have heard of her from the news in Cyrodiil; her name is Illia Stormborn.”

“Stormborn?” The girl had been perplexed. She was quite certain that she had heard the name of Stormborn before in passing, often in reference to a few noble traitors in the Imperial region. The girl had been unaware that the Stormborns had raised a daughter and that she had been in Skyrim. “Where is she now? Perhaps the Companions have use of a healer?”

“As far as I am aware, the girl has been missing for quite some time.” The priestess continued “She and the Dragonborn had been traveling together. They have no returned to Whiterun in several months. A shame too, Illia is lovely. Strong, very kind; there are few Nord women who can claim to be so.”

            The priestess had risen from her seat then, her eyes full of valor, thin lips pressed together thoughtfully. The temple robes gave her an appearance of wisdom and intelligence; surely one so spiritually inclined would be able to give her the guidance she needed. Sweat lightly fell down Anunaya’s brow, she swallowed hard. What if she was to be casted out? What would life be for her then?

“No, my dear, I believe it would be best if you were to travel to Winterhold.” She smiled at the thought, her mind made up. “The College of Winterhold will help you hone your gifts, and it will be a place for you to continue your research in peace. You will be safe from the Nords, safe from the war. I believe you’ll find your happiness there.”

 

            The priestess had been kind, preparing her for her journey with some college robes and a cloak. Fifteen septims, a loaf of bread, and a water skin; Anunaya was set to take a carriage to Winterhold that afternoon. Yet, she was trembling, scared of what laid ahead in the city.

            It was times like these that she questioned her decision to ever leave Valenwood. She missed her family; her parents and her sister. River was going to be turning eleven years old that spring. Anunaya wondered if she would take to her bow, or if she would be blessed with the gift of the magical arts as she had been.

            In truth, Anunaya had left Valenwood because of pact her people had made with the spirits there. She was unable to study alchemy and herbology if she was unable to kill the plants within the region. Skyrim seemed to be solution; a land teeming with various apothecary ingredients where she could hone her craft and learn all there was to know in the realm of restoration. Morthal had reminded her of home though, which was why she had been so taken with it. Teeming with trees and life, it was the closest she could get to Valenwood. That was ruined now too.

            Anunaya had determined long ago that she would be content with a world of isolation. Being an elf in a land full of Nords, she was used to snide remarks about her ears and her height. It was easy being alone, but she had hoped…hoped for something. Joy found through family and children. She wanted to rebuild what she had given up in Valenwood. But what man would look at her twice now that her face was that of a monster’s. Perhaps the priestess was right, the only sanctuary she would find would be in the presence of other mages who were just as suppressed as she was.

            Gathering her things, she bade the woman a fond farewell before stepping onto the back of the carriage. The driver gasped at the sight of her for a moment before giving her a warm smile.

            “Have ya ever been to Winterhold…” Anunaya shook her head, closing her eyes as the man kept his look forward and continued to mutter about the cities of Skyrim. She didn’t know what the College of Winterhold would do for her, but anything was better than sitting around waiting for death. She would find her place, one way or another.  

 


End file.
